La dame aux camélias (Novel). English

by Alexandre Dumas

  Chapter 14

  When I reached home I began to cry like a child. There is no man to whoma woman has not been unfaithful, once at least, and who will not knowwhat I suffered.

  I said to myself, under the weight of these feverish resolutions whichone always feels as if one had the force to carry out, that I must breakwith my amour at once, and I waited impatiently for daylight in orderto set out forthwith to rejoin my father and my sister, of whose love atleast I was certain, and certain that that love would never be betrayed.

  However, I did not wish to go away without letting Marguerite know whyI went. Only a man who really cares no more for his mistress leaves herwithout writing to her. I made and remade twenty letters in my head. Ihad had to do with a woman like all other women of the kind. I had beenpoetizing too much. She had treated me like a school-boy, she had usedin deceiving me a trick which was insultingly simple. My self-esteemgot the upper hand. I must leave this woman without giving her thesatisfaction of knowing that she had made me suffer, and this is what Iwrote to her in my most elegant handwriting and with tears of rage andsorrow in my eyes:

  "MY DEAR MARGUERITE: I hope that your indisposition yesterday was notserious. I came, at eleven at night, to ask after you, and was toldthat you had not come in. M. de G. was more fortunate, for he presentedhimself shortly afterward, and at four in the morning he had not left.

  "Forgive me for the few tedious hours that I have given you, and beassured that I shall never forget the happy moments which I owe to you.

  "I should have called to-day to ask after you, but I intend going backto my father's.

  "Good-bye, my dear Marguerite. I am not rich enough to love you as Iwould nor poor enough to love you as you would. Let us then forget, youa name which must be indifferent enough to you, I a happiness which hasbecome impossible.

  "I send back your key, which I have never used, and which might beuseful to you, if you are often ill as you were yesterday."

  As you will see, I was unable to end my letter without a touch ofimpertinent irony, which proved how much in love I still was.

  I read and reread this letter ten times over; then the thought of thepain it would give to Marguerite calmed me a little. I tried to persuademyself of the feelings which it professed; and when my servant came tomy room at eight o'clock, I gave it to him and told him to take it atonce.

  "Shall I wait for an answer?" asked Joseph (my servant, like allservants, was called Joseph).

  "If they ask whether there is a reply, you will say that you don't know,and wait."

  I buoyed myself up with the hope that she would reply. Poor, feeblecreatures that we are! All the time that my servant was away I was in astate of extreme agitation. At one moment I would recall how Margueritehad given herself to me, and ask myself by what right I wrote her animpertinent letter, when she could reply that it was not M. de G. whosupplanted me, but I who had supplanted M. de G.: a mode of reasoningwhich permits many women to have many lovers. At another moment I wouldrecall her promises, and endeavour to convince myself that my letter wasonly too gentle, and that there were not expressions forcible enough topunish a woman who laughed at a love like mine. Then I said to myselfthat I should have done better not to have written to her, but to havegone to see her, and that then I should have had the pleasure of seeingthe tears that she would shed. Finally, I asked myself what she wouldreply to me; already prepared to believe whatever excuse she made.

  Joseph returned.

  "Well?" I said to him.

  "Sir," said he, "madame was not up, and still asleep, but as soon as sherings the letter will be taken to her, and if there is any reply it willbe sent."

  She was asleep!

  Twenty times I was on the point of sending to get the letter back, butevery time I said to myself: "Perhaps she will have got it already, andit would look as if I have repented of sending it."

  As the hour at which it seemed likely that she would reply came nearer,I regretted more and more that I had written. The clock struck, ten,eleven, twelve. At twelve I was on the point of keeping the appointmentas if nothing had happened. In the end I could see no way out of thecircle of fire which closed upon me.

  Then I began to believe, with the superstition which people have whenthey are waiting, that if I went out for a little while, I should findan answer when I got back. I went out under the pretext of going tolunch.

  Instead of lunching at the Cafe Foy, at the corner of the Boulevard, asI usually did, I preferred to go to the Palais Royal and so pass throughthe Rue d'Antin. Every time that I saw a woman at a distance, I fanciedit was Nanine bringing me an answer. I passed through the Rue d'Antinwithout even coming across a commissionaire. I went to Very's in thePalais Royal. The waiter gave me something to eat, or rather served upto me whatever he liked, for I ate nothing. In spite of myself, my eyeswere constantly fixed on the clock. I returned home, certain that Ishould find a letter from Marguerite.

  The porter had received nothing, but I still hoped in my servant. He hadseen no one since I went out.

  If Marguerite had been going to answer me she would have answered longbefore.

  Then I began to regret the terms of my letter; I should have saidabsolutely nothing, and that would undoubtedly have aroused hersuspicions, for, finding that I did not keep my appointment, she wouldhave inquired the reason of my absence, and only then I should havegiven it to her. Thus, she would have had to exculpate herself, and whatI wanted was for her to exculpate herself. I already realized that Ishould have believed whatever reasons she had given me, and anything wasbetter than not to see her again.

  At last I began to believe that she would come to see me herself; buthour followed hour, and she did not come.

  Decidedly Marguerite was not like other women, for there are fewwho would have received such a letter as I had just written withoutanswering it at all.

  At five, I hastened to the Champs-Elysees. "If I meet her," I thought,"I will put on an indifferent air, and she will be convinced that I nolonger think about her."

  As I turned the corner of the Rue Royale, I saw her pass in hercarriage. The meeting was so sudden that I turned pale. I do not know ifshe saw my emotion as for me, I was so agitated that I saw nothing butthe carriage.

  I did not go any farther in the direction of the Champs-Elysees. Ilooked at the advertisements of the theatres, for I had still a chanceof seeing her. There was a first night at the Palais Royal. Margueritewas sure to be there. I was at the theatre by seven. The boxes filledone after another, but Marguerite was not there. I left the Palais Royaland went to all the theatres where she was most often to be seen: to theVaudeville, the Varietes, the Opera Comique. She was nowhere.

  Either my letter had troubled her too much for her to care to go tothe theatre, or she feared to come across me, and so wished to avoid anexplanation. So my vanity was whispering to me on the boulevards, when Imet Gaston, who asked me where I had been.

  "At the Palais Royal."

  "And I at the Opera," said he; "I expected to see you there."

  "Why?"

  "Because Marguerite was there."

  "Ah, she was there?"

  "Yes.

  "Alone?"

  "No; with another woman."

  "That all?"

  "The Comte de G. came to her box for an instant; but she went off withthe duke. I expected to see you every moment, for there was a stall atmy side which remained empty the whole evening, and I was sure you hadtaken it."

  "But why should I go where Marguerite goes?"

  "Because you are her lover, surely!"

  "Who told you that?"

  "Prudence, whom I met yesterday. I give you my congratulations, my dearfellow; she is a charming mistress, and it isn't everybody who has thechance. Stick to her; she will do you credit."

  These simple reflections of Gaston showed me how absurd had been mysusceptibilities. If I had only met him the night before and he hadspoken to me like that, I should certainly not have written the foolishletter which I h
ad written.

  I was on the point of calling on Prudence, and of sending her to tellMarguerite that I wanted to speak to her; but I feared that she wouldrevenge herself on me by saying that she could not see me, and Ireturned home, after passing through the Rue d'Antin. Again I asked myporter if there was a letter for me. Nothing! She is waiting to see if Ishall take some fresh step, and if I retract my letter of to-day, I saidto myself as I went to bed; but, seeing that I do not write, she willwrite to me to-morrow.

  That night, more than ever, I reproached myself for what I had done. Iwas alone, unable to sleep, devoured by restlessness and jealousy, whenby simply letting things take their natural course I should have beenwith Marguerite, hearing the delicious words which I had heard onlytwice, and which made my ears burn in my solitude.

  The most frightful part of the situation was that my judgment wasagainst me; as a matter of fact, everything went to prove thatMarguerite loved me. First, her proposal to spend the summer with me inthe country, then the certainty that there was no reason why she shouldbe my mistress, since my income was insufficient for her needs and evenfor her caprices. There could not then have been on her part anythingbut the hope of finding in me a sincere affection, able to give herrest from the mercenary loves in whose midst she lived; and on the verysecond day I had destroyed this hope, and paid by impertinent irony forthe love which I had accepted during two nights. What I had done wastherefore not merely ridiculous, it was indelicate. I had not evenpaid the woman, that I might have some right to find fault with her;withdrawing after two days, was I not like a parasite of love, afraid ofhaving to pay the bill of the banquet? What! I had only known Margueritefor thirty-six hours; I had been her lover for only twenty-four; andinstead of being too happy that she should grant me all that she did,I wanted to have her all to myself, and to make her sever at one strokeall her past relations which were the revenue of her future. What had Ito reproach in her? Nothing. She had written to say she was unwell, whenshe might have said to me quite crudely, with the hideous frankness ofcertain women, that she had to see a lover; and, instead of believingher letter, instead of going to any street in Paris except the Rued'Antin, instead of spending the evening with my friends, and presentingmyself next day at the appointed hour, I was acting the Othello, spyingupon her, and thinking to punish her by seeing her no more. But, on thecontrary, she ought to be enchanted at this separation. She ought tofind me supremely foolish, and her silence was not even that of rancour;it was contempt.

  I might have made Marguerite a present which would leave no doubt as tomy generosity and permit me to feel properly quits of her, as of akept woman, but I should have felt that I was offending by the leastappearance of trafficking, if not the love which she had for me, at allevents the love which I had for her, and since this love was so purethat it could admit no division, it could not pay by a present, howevergenerous, the happiness that it had received, however short thathappiness had been.

  That is what I said to myself all night long, and what I was everymoment prepared to go and say to Marguerite. When the day dawned Iwas still sleepless. I was in a fever. I could think of nothing butMarguerite.

  As you can imagine, it was time to take a decided step, and finisheither with the woman or with one's scruples, if, that is, she wouldstill be willing to see me. But you know well, one is always slow intaking a decided step; so, unable to remain within doors and not daringto call on Marguerite, I made one attempt in her direction, an attemptthat I could always look upon as a mere chance if it succeeded.

  It was nine o'clock, and I went at once to call upon Prudence, who askedto what she owed this early visit. I dared not tell her frankly whatbrought me. I replied that I had gone out early in order to reserve aplace in the diligence for C., where my father lived.

  "You are fortunate," she said, "in being able to get away from Paris inthis fine weather."

  I looked at Prudence, asking myself whether she was laughing at me, buther face was quite serious.

  "Shall you go and say good-bye to Marguerite?" she continued, asseriously as before.

  "No."

  "You are quite right."

  "You think so?"

  "Naturally. Since you have broken with her, why should you see heragain?"

  "You know it is broken off?"

  "She showed me your letter."

  "What did she say about it?"

  "She said: 'My dear Prudence, your protege is not polite; one thinkssuch letters, one does not write them."'

  "In what tone did she say that?"

  "Laughingly," and she added: "He has had supper with me twice, and hasn'teven called."

  That, then, was the effect produced by my letter and my jealousy. I wascruelly humiliated in the vanity of my affection.

  "What did she do last night?"

  "She went to the opera."

  "I know. And afterward?"

  "She had supper at home."

  "Alone?"

  "With the Comte de G., I believe."

  So my breaking with her had not changed one of her habits. It is forsuch reasons as this that certain people say to you: Don't have anythingmore to do with the woman; she cares nothing about you.

  "Well, I am very glad to find that Marguerite does not put herself outfor me," I said with a forced smile.

  "She has very good reason not to. You have done what you were bound todo. You have been more reasonable than she, for she was really in lovewith you; she did nothing but talk of you. I don't know what she wouldnot have been capable of doing."

  "Why hasn't she answered me, if she was in love with me?"

  "Because she realizes she was mistaken in letting herself love you.Women sometimes allow you to be unfaithful to their love; they neverallow you to wound their self-esteem; and one always wounds theself-esteem of a woman when, two days after one has become her lover,one leaves her, no matter for what reason. I know Marguerite; she woulddie sooner than reply."

  "What can I do, then?"

  "Nothing. She will forget you, you will forget her, and neither willhave any reproach to make against the other."

  "But if I write and ask her forgiveness?"

  "Don't do that, for she would forgive you."

  I could have flung my arms round Prudence's neck.

  A quarter of an hour later I was once more in my own quarters, and Iwrote to Marguerite:

  "Some one, who repents of a letter that he wrote yesterday and who willleave Paris to-morrow if you do not forgive him, wishes to know at whathour he might lay his repentance at your feet.

  "When can he find you alone? for, you know, confessions must be madewithout witnesses."

  I folded this kind of madrigal in prose, and sent it by Joseph, whohanded it to Marguerite herself; she replied that she would send theanswer later.

  I only went out to have a hasty dinner, and at eleven in the evening noreply had come. I made up my mind to endure it no longer, and to set outnext day. In consequence of this resolution, and convinced that I shouldnot sleep if I went to bed, I began to pack up my things.